


The Silent Sky

by monicawoe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 09:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2502668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monicawoe/pseuds/monicawoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(End!verse set before the events of 5x04) Castiel gets early morning guard duty at Camp Chitaqua. He climbs high up the nearby mountain, and watches the valley below. Dawn is the only time he sometimes still catches a word or two from up above.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Silent Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jaelijn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaelijn/gifts).



> written for jaelijn for spn_summergen

Camp Chitaqua is quiet at night. The sounds of the survivors in the camp dwindle, as they return to their own cabins, only the guards stay out at their posts.

Dean's set a tight schedule for guard duty. Twelve at a time, rotating every four hours. Everyone gets a turn. Everyone, no exceptions.

Castiel gets early morning shifts every day. But he doesn't complain about it like Chuck or Jerry, or try to haggle his way out of it like Jackson. Castiel likes the early mornings because he loves the dawn, the bruised orange-pink of the sky, the sounds of the animals awakening. Dawn is when the Host sends its commands to its garrisons on Earth. It's the only time Castiel sometimes still catches a word or two from up above.

What he hears isn't very inspirational.

The air is cold today, colder than the day before. Castiel's breath comes out in little white puffs as he works his way up the lookout hill. Being human is exhausting, and he's more human every day. His knees ache at the steepest part of the incline, and his Achilles tendon twinges when he slips on a patch of ice.

But there's a part of him that is strangely appreicative that he's a human now, during the final battle, because that's what it is, even if the rest of the Host can't see it yet. None of the angels above have seen Lucifer face to face. Castiel has. He's seen Lucifer looking out through Sam Winchester's eyes, and Lucifer's expression had told Castiel everything he needed to know. This war would only end with Lucifer's death, and that—that didn't seem a very likely outcome.

The old snow crunches under Castiel's boots as he nears the top. He slows his steps near the gnarled oak tree at the top and drops his pack. It makes a muted thud against the earth, and Chuck wakes with a start.

He rubs his eyes, and looks up at Castiel. "Seven already?"

Castiel looks down at the arm-watch Dean gave him. "Five minutes after seven, actually."

Chuck falls back against the ground, eyes still closed, and mumbles. "But it's so nice and quiet."

"I disagree. There's a great deal of noise right now: the birds and other animals, the wind in the trees, the—" He stops himself, doesn't mention the Host and their ever more infrequent announcements. "There is a great deal to watch over."

Rubbing at his eyes, Chuck pushes himself up to sitting.

Castiel reaches a hand down to him and helps Chuck to his feet. The prophet blinks, pointing towards the valley below with his thumb. "Not easy, sometimes, watching over all that."

"Agreed. There are days when I think we see more down there."

Yawning, Chuck says, "Well, I don't think I missed much." He grabs his rolled up mat and knapsack and turns to head back downhill.

"I'm sure you didn't," Castiel says. As Chuck disappears behind a copse of thick trees, Castiel frowns, pushing down a twinge of shame before reaching into his bag for his binoculars. He used to see everything, everywhere. And now he can't even survey a twenty-mile radius without technological aid.

The land below is quiet for hours, the only movement an occasional deer or bird.

Castiel brings the binoculars down and takes a minute to roll his shoulders, the ache in them getting too strong to ignore. Human limitations are bad enough, but they're frailty is torturous. He thinks he understands now why so many of them spend so much time in foul moods.

He brings his binoculars back up and sees a pair of eyes staring back at him.

Startled, he steps back and yanks them back down.

Gabriel stands across from him, waving his fingers. "Hey bro, how goes the bird-watching? See any red-breasted sapsuckers?"

"No." Castiel considers bringing the binoculars back up, but imagines he'll see nothing, or worse, something that isn't there.

"Somebody's got a bug up his ass," Gabriel mutters. "Well fear not, for I have brought you awesome tidings."

"Have you?"

"Yes. The war's going to be over soon."

Castiel begins to protest, but Gabriel wags his finger. Castiel falls silent, fairly certain it was a reflex, not Gabriel's will.

"We're all tired of it, and frankly, I've lost my patience," Gabriel says.

"You?" Now, Castiel's anger spurs him to speak. "You've spent eons hiding. Most of us thought you dead. We _mourned_ you."

"Psssh." He rolls his eyes. "Please. You mourned for the celestial equivalent of two seconds and then Michael cursed my name and called me a coward."

"You are a coward."

Gabriel's eyes turn stone cold, and his power flares around him in warning. "Wanna say that again, brother?"

"Are you going to tell me that running away was brave?"

"I found my own path, away from all the in-fighting."

"So did I," Castiel raises his chin, defiant. "And I never hid. Where have you been during all this?"

"Fighting," Gabriel says, rolling his shoulders back. "In my own way."

"Fighting how?"

"I throw a wrench in the works when it'll help. Send troops off track."

"Lucifer's troops? Or Michael's?"

Gabriel sneers. "Does it matter?"

"Yes!" Castiel snaps.

"That's where you're wrong. They're going to tear this ball of dirt and cool stuff apart. Nobody's going to win, don't you get it?"

"Michael will triumph. He has to. He--"

"You really have no idea, do you?" Gabriel narrows his eyes. "I knew your wings got clipped, but…you really are practically one of them." He wrinkles his nose. "How'd that happen?"

"I don't know."

"Ask me how the war is going."

Castiel glares at him.

Gabriel holds up his hands, making shadow puppets. "How's the war going, Gabriel?" says his let hand, perfectly mimicking Castiel's voice. "Oh thanks for asking, little brother," says his right. He brings both hands down and shouts, "It's going peachy! Hundreds of us slaughtered every day-- and that's on a good day! On a bad day--thousands."

Confusion and anger mix together and make Castiel's head ache. "Lucifer is strong, but he's not--even he can't take down that many."

Gabriel scoffs. "Normally, no. Not even Michael could do that kind of damage, but Lucifer has something Michael doesn't."

Remorse and worry leave a bitter aftertaste on Castiel's tongue. "Sam Winchester."

Gabriel nods. "Times like these, a true vessel makes all the difference." He looks at Castiel and sighs. "Sam is...an amplifier for Lucifer's power. Think of him as the world's strongest subwoofer and you'll get the idea, only instead of ruptured eardrums you get incinerated grace, liquified souls, tsunamis, earthquakes and rivers of boiling blood."

"Sam would hate this. Hate himself for what's happened."

"Oh, he does."

"You've spoken to him?"

"I don't have to. Can't you hear him screaming?"

Castiel shakes his head.

"He's figured out a lot since he let our brother in, not that it does him any good. Tried to take control back a few times. From _Lucifer_." Gabriel scoffs. "Pretty sure that was his big plan from the get go."

"The only one stronger than Lucifer is Michael."

"Not unless Dean lets Michael in," Gabriel says, looking down into the valley below. "But that ain't gonna happen, is it?"

"No." Castiel swallows. "It isn't."

"That's why we need to go with plan B."

"What is plan B?"

Gabriel points both thumbs towards his chest. "Me."

"You?"

"I'm gonna go in waving a big old white flag."

"Surrender? But Michael and Raphael, they would never--"

"No, they wouldn't. And that's why the Host has been decimated. Because of them. They talk about Luci's pride but Michael? You know he's just as bad. He'd rather see this whole damn marble burn before giving an inch."

"Lucifer won't believe you."

Gabriel's smile turns a touch sadder. "Course he will. I'm the Trickster."

There's a gunshot from below. Then another. Castiel raises his binoculars and looks down into the valley, tracks the sound until he spots one of the Camp's jeeps parked near a denser part of the nearby forest.

"Deer," Gabriel says. "You're having venison tonight." He turns his back, walks towards the edge of the overlook.

"Be careful," Castiel says.

"Just peel your ears for my horn."

Castiel nods. Gabriel vanishes.

***

For the next three hours, Castiel watches the sky, listens for Gabriel's call. Near the end of his shift, he imagines he can hear the whispers of the Host in the wind, even though he knows all he hears is nature: the rustle of leaves, the beating of wings--starlings and sparrows, not power and intent.

Edgar comes to relieve him, grunts at him half-heartedly. The old man's gotten quieter with every passing month. He barely speaks anymore except to answer questions. Castiel remembers he had a wife when he first came to the camp. But she was infected.

The smell of meat roasting hits Castiel's nostrils as he walks into the Camp. He heads straight for Dean's cabin, but finds it empty. He asks around, and learns only that Dean is "out."

After lunch, Castiel heads back to his own cabin and lies on his worn mattress. He's tired from having eaten better than usual, and replays Gabriel's words from earlier as he drifts to sleep. He dreams, still vaguely aware that he's dreaming, still marveling at how vivid the images are, how real they feel. Dreaming is something humans and animals do, though angels learned how to enter those dreams long ago.

In his dream, Lucifer's furious light stabs out through the Earth, right underneath Castiel's cot. His back arches, and he can feel his grace spilling out of him. He sees himself cut wide open, like a gutted fish, as everything that made him an angel drifts up into the air. His grace spreads out thinner and thinner, until it dissipates. He's blinded from looking up at the sky--from the radiance of Heaven, from the sun which grows and grows until it fills the entire sky. His empty shell of a body knits itself back together and he feels bereft. Empty.

The sun's yellow becomes burnt orange then red. Little white flecks start to drift down from the sky, and Castiel reaches his hand out, trying to catch the snowflakes in his hand. One lands on his nose. Not snow at all, but a feather.

"We're gonna need a plan C," Gabriel says. His voice sounds gravelly and strained.

Castiel sits up and finds Gabriel sitting cross-legged across from him. He looks worse for wear, a dark bruise across his face, blood dried around his nose and mouth.

"What happened?" Castiel asks as he reaches out his hand and places it gently on Gabriel's shoulder. Gabriel's still an archangel, and that kind of damage could only have come from another archangel.

"What do you think?" Gabriel asks, sarcasm slurring his words more than his broken nose.

"Lucifer…did not accept your surrender."

Gabriel smiles bitterly, showing blood-stained teeth. "When has he ever?" His smile widens.

Castiel flinches as a jolt of energy runs through his fingers and Gabriel's face shifts into another. The archangel's light hair grows darker and longer, his face narrows, his shoulders widen. Sam Winchester sits across from Castiel now, and Lucifer shines out from behind his eyes.

Startled, Castiel backs away, scrambles to his feet. "Where's Gabriel?"

Lucifer brings his thumb and forefinger together and grabs something out of the ether. A gleaming green-blue feather, the color of the ocean.

"No…" Castiel says, dread settling in his gut. He recognizes Gabriel's wing feathers—colors unique as a fingerprint. "He offered surrender."

"Gabriel had no intention of surrendering. He came to kill me. He tried to _deceive_ me." Sam's eyes narrow as inhuman rage builds behind them. "And for what? For these humans? These violent, limited animals."

"You're inside a human vessel."

"Don't insult Sam by comparing him to them. He was made for _me_. And when Gabriel came—when he lied to me, Sam was front and center." Sam's eyes close and Lucifer's voice softens, becomes almost wisftul. "His anger is magnificent."

"I imagine most of it is directed towards you," Castiel says.

Lucifer glares, but it's tempered with an indulgent smile. "Do you have any idea what Gabriel put him through?"

Castiel shakes his head. "I can imagine."

"I let Sam sleep whenever he wishes. I don't force him to watch, but he hears and sees if he chooses to." Lucifer chuckles and it doesn't sound a thing like Sam. "Gabriel's scent woke him up."

An image flashes through Castiel's mind, Sam's hands covered in blood, Gabriel's shocked face open in a soundless scream, the smell of blood and grace and fire. Filled with fear, Castiel turns and runs, knowing full well that he's still asleep, still caught in a dream.

"Where are you going, brother?" Lucifer's voice whispers, right into his ears. "You can't hide from me. Can't get away. Not here."

"I can try," Castiel mutters under his breath, but it's a half-hearted protest at best. The sky above has gone pitch black. Castiel's bare feet pound against the hard, barren earth. He runs forward, as the ground begins to slope upwards.

At the top of the slope stands Lucifer, arms crossed, Sam's tall form even more imposing. "You're asleep. That human body you're marooned in is practically paralyzed until it wakes." He smirks. "And you're not waking up until I'm done with you."

Bitterness settles on Castiel's tongue. "Why waste your time talking to me? I'm powerless. I have no sway over this war."

Lucifer crooks an eyebrow. "I think we both know that's not true. You've got Dean's ear. And I want to know his thoughts about all this. How he feels."

"How he feels?" Castiel can't keep the incredulity out of his voice. "You're using his brother to tear the planet apart. How do you think he feels?"

Lucifer's expression goes cold. " _I'm_ using Sam?" The air freezes solid, and Castiel finds he can't move at all. "Sam came to _me_. He called for me, he said yes. And do you know why?"

Castiel can't speak, and it's better that way because every response he can come up with would surely only make Lucifer angrier.

"Because no one else would have him. Not even his brother. So yes, I want to know how Dean feels. I want to know if he's suffering even half as much as Sam was before he came to his senses."

The pressure in the air drops away and Castiel knows he can speak again. "Dean…misses Sam. He won't admit it, never says his name. Nobody else does either." Castiel shrugs. "It doesn't end well."

"And how does he plan on ending the war?" Lucifer glances up to the sky. "I haven't heard him call for Michael. Not once."

"He never will," Castiel says. "Saying yes to Michael isn't an option for Dean."

"That's exactly what Sam said." Lucifer frowns. "Not even to end this?"

"No."

"That's disappointing," Lucifer says. "More then anything, Sam wants this to be over." He straightens, rolls his shoulders back. "I guess I'll have to be the one to end it."

***

A loud _crack_ from outside wakes Castiel, and he bolts upright, head spinning. The sky is dark, and it's raining fat, heavy drops that pound against his window. Thunder rumbles in the distance and a second later a sharp crack of lightning illuminates the cabin room.

There's a green-blue feather lying on the floor, just inches from his cot. He sits up, rubs his eyes, presses the heels of his hands against his eyes and takes a deep breath. But when he looks the feather's still there. He reaches out to pick it up, feels the roar of the ocean in his fingertips when he touches it.

"Gabriel," he says, just before the feather crumbles to ash.

Heart pounding in his chest, Castiel jams his feet into his boots and runs outside, the heavy rain soaking through his thin shirt. He runs to Dean's cabin like his life depends on it. And in that moment, it does.

He tries to push open the door but can't. Dean keeps his cabin door locked these days. Castiel pounds his fist against the heavy wooden door, and is just about to start shouting when he hears Dean yell back from inside. "Give me a sec!"

The door opens a few seconds later. Dean looks as miserable as the sky around them, but he steps aside and lets Castiel in.

"Can't a man drink in peace?" Dean growls.

"No," Castiel answers gruffly. "And anyway you won't find peace through inebriation. I've tried."

"You haven't tried hard enough."

"Dean." Castiel takes a breath and he's not sure if it's that act, or the last embers of his grace flickering out, but Dean falls quiet. "Lucifer came to me in my dream."

Dean's face pales ever so slightly. Imperceptible to any who don't know what to look for. "Yeah? And what'd he have to say."

"He killed Gabriel."

"Who?"

"The archangel."

"Thought you said the archangels were the only ones who stood a chance of taking him down?"

"They do." Castiel takes a step closer to Dean looking at him pointedly.

"Oh come on. You're not gonna start this again, are you? We've been over this. The answer's still the same."

"Then you're dooming this planet."

"I'm not saying yes to Michael. _You_ used to agree with me. You understood."

"I did. And now there are three billion less people on Earth." Castiel sits down in one of Dean's chairs, shifts his weight and grabs an empty, relatively clean tumbler from the table.

Dean walks wordlessly next to him and half-fills his glass with amber liquid.

It burns going down Castiel's throat. "I no longer believe that Michael can win without his true vessel."

"What about Raphael?" Dean sits down across from him. "He and Michael team up and Lucifer's toast, right?"

"I don't know."

Dean lets out a bitter laugh. "Few things scarier than an angel who says he doesn't know."

Castiel scoffs. "I'm not an angel anymore."

"Slumming it with the rest of us." Dean refills his own glass and downs the contents. "So how come you're so sure your dreams mean more than anyone else's?"

"Because that _was_ Lucifer. It was him giving us one last chance."

"To do what? End this war?"

"No." Castiel shakes his head. "To stop him."

"How is that not the same thing?"

"Because if Lucifer ends the war on his terms, without opposition, there won't be anyone left on the planet but him."

Dean swallows angrily and refills his glass.

***

By the time Castiel gets back to his own cot, his head is throbbing. He doesn't know what time it is, the rain hasn't let up, the sky is pitch black—not even lightning disrupts the darkness.

He contemplates changing out of his clothes but only gets as far as stripping out of his wet shirt before exhaustion gets the better of him. He lays back on his thin pillow and his eyes fall shut.

The Earth in his dream is desolate again—nothing but stone and dust. Up above is a different story. Shadow and light as pure as grace swirl together in a maelstrom and in it, Castiel can catch glimpses of wings, of light and fury given form.

A single column of light shoots down from the center of the storm, and coalesces, taking the shape of an archangel--too much beauty and radiance for a mind as human as Castiel's has become to comprehend. He raises a hand to block some of the brilliance, tries closing his eyes, but it's useless. The light is everywhere, inevitable, and underneath it all is an endless well of grace.

The massive figure steps forward, an ocean of light and flame lapping out from its feet. And as Castiel watches, the effulgent body shrinks from its five hundred foot height to the height of one tall man. Sam Winchester's face grins at him with Lucifer's smile.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Lucifer asks. Sam's long legs walk up next to Castiel, bare feet clean against the dusty ground. "Nature as it was intended. Before mankind." He grabs Castiel gently by the chin, turning him towards him. "It'll be like this again soon. The plants will consume their cities, and the other, better animals will pick their bones clean until there is nothing left of man."

"This is not the Plan." Castiel says, unable to keep the anger out of his voice.

"Yes, it is. My plan."

"What gives you the right to go against our Father's will?" Even here in his dream, Castiel questions his choice if words, wondering if they'll be his last.

Lucifer scoffs. "He hasn't stopped me, has he? That alone is proof enough that he no longer cares for this world. Maybe--maybe he's finally accepted that I was right all along. Even the humans admit that I am the heir to their kingdom, the true King of Earth. And if they are Father's greatest achievement, then surely they're right." A very un-Sam-like smile flickers across Lucifer's lips.

"And what will you do with Earth, once it's yours?"

His smile softens. "I will burn it clean."

"No, you won't." Castiel feels a responding pulse of agreement from above and pushes on. "Michael and Raphael will stop you."

"Will they?" Lucifer looks up and vanishes.

The sky is filled with light and sound and _power_. He can feel his brothers' presence nearby, eternal fire and endless storm, righteousness great enough to bring legions to their knees. Michael and Raphael—divine wrath given form, and here, in his mind, Castiel sees them as the truly are. Enormous wings and flaming swords, a thousand eyes and mouths.

"Hello, brother," they say, and all of the mouths move in concert to form one heavy voice. It permeates everything, vibrating through the rock of the ground, Castiel's human form, the air itself. It sounds like Michael sounds, like Raphael sounds; Castiel remembers their pitch, the raw power behind them. But they're not addressing him. They're calling out to the third archangel, the one Castiel feels curling like razorwire through every atom around him. The heavens explode with light and deafening sound and underneath it all Castiel could swear he hears Sam Winchester screaming.

All at once, the sky goes dark and still. Disoriented, Castiel blinks, and his weak eyes start to adjust. The sky pales until it's an anemic grey. It starts to rain. The drops taste like salt and have a faint reddish hue.

There's a man lying a few dozen feet away, back turned towards Castiel, who takes a few steps forwards and then runs when he realizes who he's looking at.

Sam's body is bruised, the fine clothing Lucifer had dressed him in torn and tattered. There's a heavy gash across his right arm that's bleeding sluggishly. He takes a pained gasp and says something too quiet to hear.

Castiel leans in closer.

"It's over," Sam says.

Without even looking back up at the sky, Castiel knows he's right. The oppressive power of warring angels didn't just wane, it vanished completely. Any who survived retreated.

A jagged cough sends Sam curling in on himself, and Castiel puts his hand on Sam's shoulder, keeping it there until he stills. "It is. And you're still here."

Sam doesn't answer. He lies still for a while, his breaths the only indicator that he's still alive. Then, just when Castiel wonders what else the dream wants to show him, Sam says, "He'll never forgive me."

"Possible," Castiel says, considering Dean and the way the last few years have changed him. "But not a certainty."

Sam grunts and pushes himself up into a half sit, clutching onto his bleeding arm as he turns to face Castiel. "You don't know him like I do."

Castiel nods, brushing drops of rain off his forehead. "True, but I know that he never once stopped loving you. He only convinced himself he did."

"I want to believe that," Sam says. His smile is crooked and miserable. He brings his bloodied hand away from his wound.

Underneath the red-stained skin of Sam's arm it's hard to see at first, but after looking more closely, Castiel is certain--the wound has closed.

"For what it's worth, thank you," Sam says, reaching his blood-slicked fingers out to Castiel.

Confused, Castiel takes Sam's hand--feels the tackiness in his palm. "For what?"

"For calling them. Raphael and Michael would never have faced me out there, but here, in your clever little brain..." Lucifer smiles. "It was the perfect battleground. Even they couldn't resist the dreams of an earthbound angel."

The words sink into Castiel's mind, ice slithering through his thoughts as he processes what Lucifer said. Everything here is _real_ , and Castiel knew that already, on some level. He just didn't want accept it. Michael and Raphael are gone, snuffed out. And now, what's to stop the rest of the world from meeting the same fate? He appeals to the one other being he can. "Sam, you have to fight this."

"He doesn't have to do a damn thing," Lucifer says calmly. "I gave him a choice. I always give him a choice."

"You're going to tell me he chose to let you do this?"

Lucifer laughs. "I'm telling you he helped me."

"No." Voice stuck in his throat, Castiel yanks his hand back, but Lucifer holds on tight, smile widening.

"He wanted this war to end, and he didn't want to hurt Dean or any other humans in the process." His voice drops down to a whisper. "You helped me give him his wish."

The sky above them brightens and then burns. The raindrops are molten metal and each drop singes Castiel's skin until he can't help but scream.

"Stop," he hears Sam say. And this time, it really is Sam.

The molten rain stops.

"Cas?" Sam asks, drawing in a shuddering breath as he lets go of Castiel's hands.

How Castiel could have ever thought Lucifer's pale imitation was Sam himself seems laughable now.

"Sam," Castiel says. "You have to keep fighting him."

Sam's face twists in pain. "Tell Dean I'm sorry. He needs to find a way to kill me—to kill _him_. Please, I--I can't stop him alone. I tried."

"I know you did. But you can't possibly—"

"This war will _never_ end. Lucifer will kill every angel, every human. He will bleed this world dry. This isn't about victory. It's about vengeance." Sam folds in on himself, gasping for air and when he looks up, his eyes are pitch black. "Go. Go!"

***

Castiel doesn't so much wake up as fall back into the world. Once he's sure he's in the familiar confines of the cabin again it brings absolutely no comfort. Because there's something in his hand.

He pries his fingers apart and forces himself to look. Stuck to his skin with drying blood are two feathers. One sky-blue, the other bright white, tipped with gold.

***

He climbs the mountain hours before his shift, before the sunrise, and it's more exhausting than it's ever been.

Near the top he hears Dean yelling--screaming one name over and over, voice rough with overuse.

"Michael!" Dean cries out again, as Castiel reaches the peak. "I said yes! Answer me, you son of a bitch!"

The wind howls in response, but it's just the air. There's no divinity behind it, not even a flicker.

"Michael! Get your ass down here, you coward!"

Before he can stop himself, Castiel has Dean by the collar. "He's not coming," Castiel says. He takes a ragged breath, fury and sorrow making his vision blur. "And he was never a coward."

Dean shoves back roughly, sends Castiel stumbling into the root of the tree. He trips and falls, landing painfully on his hip.

"Was?" Dean snarls, looking down at Castiel.

Silently, Castiel reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out two feathers. They're still solid, still gleaming and bright. He holds them up, gripping them firmly so the wind doesn't pull them away. He points at the blue feather, then the gold. "Raphael. Michael."

Dean's face pales. "How?"

Castiel pushes himself to standing, wincing at the stab of pain in his hip. "Don't be stupid Dean. You know how." He walks to the edge of the mountain, looks down into the valley.

"Did you--" Dean swallows loudly enough for Castiel to hear. "Did you see him? Lucifer?"

"Yes," Castiel says. His fingers clutch the feathers more tightly as the wind picks up. "He's too strong, Dean. And now he has no opposition."

"Where was the showdown? We didn't feel a damn thing here besides rain and a little thunder. No earthquakes, no meteors--"

"The battle wasn't on Earth."

"Cloud nine?" Dean asks, eyes flicking to the sky.

"No." With one last draw of breath, Castiel opens his fingers. The wind falls dead still and the feathers dissolve to ash in his palm.

"Hell?"

"The battle was in me — in my mind." _My fault,_ he thinks, but he can't force the words out.

The wind picks up again, sending glittering ash into the air. They watch it swirl away.

"Sam," Dean says, so quietly it's barely a whisper. "Did you talk to him?"

Castiel considers not saying anything. Three of his older brothers are dead, thousands of others. The world is as good as lost and it's all because of Dean and Sam.

"Is he—"

"He got through. He spoke to me."

Dean's eyes widen. "What'd he say?"

"That we are lost!" Castiel snarls. He shoves Dean, and this time Dean staggers back. "That Lucifer will bleed this world dry." Shove. "And he will. Because we can't stop him. Not anymore."

For just a moment, there's sorrow in Dean's eyes, and his mouth drops open. Then he shuts down again, or tries to. "So it's over?"

The dawn grows brighter and the mourning doves coo from somewhere below in the trees. Castiel lets himself drop to the ground, draws his knees in and looks out towards the horizon. Though he strains to hear, there's not a single whisper from the Host.

After a few moments, Dean sits down next to him. "What did Sam tell you? Really."

Castiel looks at Dean and shakes his head.

 

 

 

_________________________________


End file.
